


You Can Watch Me, Steve

by WordsAreMusicForTheEyes



Series: Beautiful Little Punk [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU: Modern Day, Adorable Steve Rogers, Author has unhealthy obsession with Steve Rogers, Bathroom doors need not be closed, Body exploration...if you know what I mean..., Bucky & Reader Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Exhibitionism, F/M, First Kiss, Making Out, Masturbation, Nudity, POV Second Person, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Reader decides to show Steve the ropes...the 'hanky-panky' ropes, Reader-Insert, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Lubrication, Sexual Content, Skinny!Steve, Smutty, Touching, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAreMusicForTheEyes/pseuds/WordsAreMusicForTheEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has asked you to keep an eye on Steve, for the duration of his deployment, and make sure the 'little punk' doesn't get himself in any trouble. </p>
<p>After Steve is involved in an aggressive debacle, you tend to his wounds-both physical and emotional.</p>
<p>However, things take an interesting turn, mainly when you 'accidentally-on-purpose' leave the bathroom door open whilst going for a quick shower....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perfectly Imperfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself....I just couldn't help myself.....what have I become? A porn-fic obsessed monster?
> 
> Well, hey, we all have a cross to bear, do we not? ;p
> 
> Here is a bit of charming smut with the adorable pre-serum Steve Rogers...
> 
> Hopefully it isn't too lousy :3
> 
> P.S.Apologies if there are any errors, I didn't have chance to do a check :s

You're sat at the laminate, faux wood dining table in Bucky and Steve's kitchen, patiently awaiting Steve's return from the grocery store. It was one of the few places in the area willing to hire a walking archive of ailments. And the five minute walk was considerably kinder to his weak lungs.

_**Five minutes. Five damn minutes. He should be back by now**_. _**What if something's happened to him? What if he's gotten into another fight?**_ You ruminate, brows knitting together in an overwrought frown.

Bucky had asked you to look out for his best friend-who happened to be a stubborn, brave  punk-while he was deployed in Afghanistan. Initially, you thought that would simply entail visiting Steve at their apartment every day, to keep him company for an hour or two.

If only it were that simple. You had to be both friend and crude nurse to the frustratingly noble and courageous little bastard.

In the past couple of weeks, on more occasions than you care to count, Steve has come back to the apartment with bruises and a split lip from violent debacles with grade-A douchebags. Needless to say, you've become overly familiar with the stench of TCP, and are now tremendously dexterous with applying Steri-Strips to the multitude of cuts he acquires.

 

When you hear the sound of Steve's key scrabbling in the lock of the apartment door, you stand up and practically hurtle towards it. You tug it open, causing poor Steve to stagger forwards with his key still lodged in the lock. He nearly trips up, but you catch him by his bony shoulders, seizing hold of him.

"You're hurting me, [Your Name]!" He whines petulantly. You notice he doesn't meet your eyes, keeping his head down so you can't examine his face. You loosen your grip by a fraction.

"You've already been hurt, Steve! You got in another fight, didn't you?! For Christ's sake, Steve, why can't you just keep out of trouble?! A five minute walk! **_Five minutes_** ** _!_ ** Couldn't you avoid getting yourself hurt for _**five fucking minutes**_?" You berate him rather fiercely, shaking his tiny body. When he raises his head to look at you, you feel your anger dissipate as guilt usurps it.

He has a small bruise beneath his right eye, and a bleeding cut on his lower lip. But it's not these, thankfully, minor wounds that make you relent. It's the rueful look in his beautiful, doe eyes.

"I'm sorry, [Your Name]..." He murmurs his apology, clearly regretful at having agitated you. You heave a sigh, because this little punk knows exactly how to tug at your heartstrings.

"Oh, Steve...I'm not angry at you. I was just-I was worried sick about you-" You tell him, your voice softening, "-you gotta stop getting into fights buddy. A guy like you...you could badly hurt a lot more easily. You're lucky you've only come away with bruises and cuts so far." You say, as tenderly as you can. Steve shrugs away from you, vexation plastering his beautiful face.

"Whaddya mean a 'guy like me'? What? A skinny guy? A weak guy? Is that what you mean?!" He demands, a flush creeping across his face. You can't help but notice how delicate his features are-his ripe, rose-bud lips, the azure pools of his eyes framed by dark blond lashes and the golden, silk crop of his nearly parted hair, all combined together amongst the slightly bony contours of his face. He's utterly delectable.

 

"Steve, you **are** a smaller guy-so you're at risk of being severely injured when you're getting into fights with big, knuckle-dragging meatheads! But don't you dare think for one second that makes you _**weak**_!" You say, realising you've unintentionally struck a nerve.

"I am weak, though. I'm a skinny runt who gets his butt handed to him." Steve's insecurities weighing heavy on his heart. You brush your thumb over his smooth cheek affectionately.

"Don't say that. You're _**not**_ weak. " You insist. "Am I allowed to ask how it started?" You inquire after a brief pause.

"I ran into some guys. Said they'd seen you with me. Asked what a fine gal like you was doing with a _**runt**_ like me. Then they made some...inappropriate comments about you. I got mad, told them to shut their traps and not say such disrespectful things. You can guess the rest." He explains.

"Stevie..." You sigh, drawing him in for a comforting hug. You retain composure externally, but internally, you're beaming with joy. Steve got _**protective**_ over you! He stood up to a group of chauvenistic Neanderthals just to defend you. You fight the urge to press your lips against his in a heated embrace, and comb your fingers through his soft, fragrant hair as he wearily rests his head on your shoulder. His skinny body feels wonderfully warm pressed against yours.

"Thank you for being so sweet." You whisper in his ear. You had to turn your head to do so, and your cheek brushes lightly against his.

"I'd let 'em punch me every day if it meant protecting you from their disgusting comments." He assures you, wrapping his arms around you possessively. "Nobody talks about you like that. _**Nobody**_." He adds vehemently. You squeeze him gently. A part of you wonders if he's enjoying being held against you, the softness of your breasts against his concave chest, the shape of your waist and the spread of your hips, nudged against his pelvis. In your moment of speculation, Steve provides you with a non-verbal answer.

"Oh-ho, Steve, I'm glad you're happy to see me." You tease him kittenishly. The blond pulls back, blushing crimson and stammering an apology.

"I-I-didn't-I wasn't...um...I-I'm sorry, I'm not trying to-um..."

"Relax, Stevie. It's simply nature's way of telling you your 'equipment' is fully functional. Now, c'mon, get your bony keester into the kitchen so I can get some TCP on that cut." You usher him along, by gently frog-marching him into the kitchen/dining room.

 

Steve winces when you press the disinfectant-soaked cotton wool ball against his lacerated lip, but doesn't utter a word of complaint.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you when you came in. And for hurting you, when I grabbed you." You say, remorseful.

"S'okay, [Your Name]. I know you meant well. I didn't think you'd get so worried about me, y'know." He replies, his words distorted slightly as he tries to speak with the cotton against his mouth.

"I'm your friend, I'm gonna get worried about you, you little mook-" You rebuke him lightly, "-plus I promised Bucky I would take care of you. I'd hold myself personally responsible if you were to end up in hospital, and I suspect Bucky wouldn't be too forgiving. So far, I haven't done a great job. It seems like you come back with bruises every day, Steve. I'm gonna have to escorting you home from work."

"I can take care of myself." Steve declares bitterly. "I'm not a kid, like Bucky seems to think." You roll your eyes, exasperated.

"You know I didn't mean it like that. Jeez Louise, you're obstinate, sometimes."

"I disagree." Steve chimes, the corner of his mouth turning up into a sly smile. This elicits a huff of laughter from you. You try to ignore the flutter of your heart when he gives you a crooked smile.

"What would the world be without you, huh, Steven Rogers?" You ask rhetorically.

"One punk short?" He suggests impishly.

"Yep. Sounds about right." You flash him a jaunty grin, eyebrows quickly darting up your forehead, before disposing of the cotton ball.

 

"It was really sweet of you to stand up to those guys for me." You tell him, washing your hands to rid them of the objectionable stink of disinfectant.

"Well, they shouldn't have started running their mouths off about you. They got what was coming to 'em. Well, verbally, at least. I can't exactly beat anyone up. But knowing it was because I stopped 'em saying that stuff about you...made it worthwhile." He says resolutely.

"You were willing to get beat up on for a friend?" You inquire, drying your hands on a tea-towel.

"Yeah! I mean, that's exactly _**why**_. You're my friend. You're special. And you're the only gal who doesn't treat me like something on the bottom of her shoe. Not to say, I wouldn't stand up for other women, don't get me wrong. But the punches I took, I took for _**you**_."

You feel your chest bursting with love for this man, this skinny punk with his golden hair, and mouth like segments of a freshly cut peach-only much more exquisite. **_I wonder if he tastes sweeter,_ ** you ponder.

"That means a hell of a lot to me, Stevie." You tell him with such sincerity, he fixes you with a wide-eyed stare.

"Oh, um, r-really?" He sounds sceptical.

"Course it does." You return the tea-towel to it's rightful place and walk across to Steve, kneeling down in front of him as he remains in his chair. You take hold of his hands, interlacing your fingers between his tapered, artist's digits. "It means so, so much to me, Steve. I know you doubt yourself, because people have made you like you're less of a person, less of a man. You think you're the weak, little guy, but you are _**so much more**_ than that. You have more integrity and courage in your pinky finger than any of those assholes will ever have in their entire, pathetic lives. You're the sweetest guy to walk to face of the Earth. Those women who pass you up are too blinded by superficial expectations to realise just what a wonderful guy they're missing out on. To me, you're special, and just utterly... _ **perfect**_." You tell him, looking up into his eyes. Steve is rendered speechless for a moment, gaping at you in astonishment.

"You're perfect to me, [Your Name]." He finally responds, as though snapping back into reality.

"C'mere. I've wanted to do this for a while." You stand up, carefully pulling him to his feet, before cupping his face and leaning in to kiss him.

 

It's a deep, passionate kiss, that ignites a fire at your core. His lips are full and velvety, making you savour every second of being locked in this amorous embrace.

You wind your arms around his frail neck, drawing him closer to you. Steve rests his hands on your waist, cautiously, as if assessing your reaction. As prising him off of you is the exact opposite of what you want to do, you continue kissing him, and he intuitively takes this as a sign to lower his hands down your waist.

Remembering how easy it is for him to become breathless and have an asthma attack, you slowly pull back and rest your forehead against his.

"Stevie....Stevie..." You whisper lovingly, brushing your fingers through that silky hair of his. The expression on his face is that of unadulterated adoration. You move your hand to his enchanting face, and glide the pads of your fingers over his cheekbones and over the intriguing bump on the bridge of his nose-

"You're so handsome, Steve..." You purr, before crushing your lips against his once more.

Being stronger than him, you end up backing him into the cheap dining table, causing him to lurch a little. This doesn't faze him in the slightest. Nothing could possibly tear him away from your mouth and your warm touch.

The skinny blond seems to experience a surge of confidence, and his hands slide down to your hips, his thumbs hooking through the belt-hoops of your jeans. _**Not so shy after all,**_ you think, impressed. You moan quietly into his mouth by way of demonstrating your appreciation.

 

Steve unintentionally reciprocates the appreciation, when you feel him stiffening down below. You coyly move your leg out and position it so your inner thigh is touching his hip. This seems to have quite an effect on him, as hIs breathing becomes shallow and rapid. Again you break the kiss to allow him the opportunity to catch his breath, and settle to graze your lips over his.

"Do you like this, Steve?" You ask him breathlessly. He nods eagerly, gazing at you ardently. "How about this?" Slowly, lightly, you roll your hips against his bulge, earning a throaty groan from the blond. If you weren't already aware of how turned on you are, the sudden heat pooling between your legs is certainly an indication.

"[Your Name]....[Your Name]..." He pants, cheeks flushing. You move your hand to his rising and falling chest, laying your palm against his heart. It's thumping away, probably from the exertion, but also from the excitement. You let your hand travel down his stomach, past his belt-

"[Your Name]!" He calls almost urgently. You only drift over his firm bulge with the flat of your hand, but he moans even so. _**This is the first time he's ever been kissed, made out with and touched there..it's hardly surprising he's gonna get so worked up**_ ,  you remind yourself.

You then realise when his breathing turns ragged and his face reddens too much for your liking, that he's having an asthma attack.

 

A few panicked minutes later, after a couple of puffs of his inhaler, you sit Steve down and rub his back to calm him down. His demeanour is hang-dog, and it's not solely due to him having been unable to breath momentarily.

"I can't....I can't even kiss a girl without losing my breath." He grumbles.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Steve. You lasted for a good while. I probably shouldn't have rushed you. Still, that was pretty damn awesome-kissing you is incredible." You tell him, not just to boost his confidence, but because it's the truth. Steve perks up and smiles bashfully.

"Thanks! I've never-I've never been kissed before...it felt real good kissing you, [Your Name]."

"You're a natural. Or a quick learner. Maybe both, so lucky me, huh?" You wink raffishly at him. "If you knew what you've done to me, Steve...oh boy..." You tell him, letting yourself fall back against the kitchen counter, throwing your arms up against the cupboards attached to the wall, in an exaggerated manner-all with a decidedly orgasmic groan. Steve shifts in his chair, and clears his throat.

"Careful...you might give me another asthma attack, [Your Name]." He jests, now in good spirits. You giggle, mostly happy to see him so cheerful.

"Hey, Steve, mind if I use your shower? I didn't have enough time when I got back to my place from work, I had to get dressed straight away so I was here on time." You inquire politely.

"Oh, sure thing, yeah. You can, um, borrow my towel...if you like? Or Bucky's, he's not exactly gonna need it for a while?"

"Thanks. I'll grab Bucky's, probably. Unless you don't mind me rubbing my nude self down with your towel?" You ask, feigning innocence to the sexual nature of your question. Steve sputters and blushes furiously. "I'm sorry, Steve. I couldn't resist." You add, swatting at him playfully as you stride through the apartment to the one bedroom, with it's en-suite bathroom.

 

You weren't lying about the effect Steve had on you. You feel damp down below, and your lower lips are slightly swollen with arousal. You try to distract yourself, but the warm spray of the shower does no favours whatsover. It only reminds of Steve's heat, the warmth of his hardening groin, his delectable mouth locked together with yours.

Maybe that's why you've left the bathroom door open?

You're hoping he'll walk into the bedroom to fetch something, maybe even just to ask if there's anything you need...and you're hoping he'll see you...

It feels so deliciously illicit, and is only seeking to heighten your arousal.

You _**want**_   him to see you, to watch his eyes travel down the nude length of your body, drinking in the sight of the female anatomy for the first time in his life. You want to see his eyes widen in awe at the sensual indiscretion, as he's given access to something he's been craving, something he's so far been denied. You want to see his mouth part as he loses control over the lewd thoughts he's kept pushed to the back of his mind, the fantasies-reserved for the times he spends pleasuring himself- being acted out with  _ **you,**_ like a pornographic film in his head.

Mostly, above all, you yearn to watch him touch himself, as he's overwhelmed by the eroticism of the situation.

So once you switch the shower off, halting the spray of water, and step out of the cubicle-you leave that bathroom door open. You actively choose not to wrap yourself in a towel. Instead, you stand in front of the mirror, pretending to comb your fingers through your hair and flatten any stray strands.

 

"[Your Name]?" Steve calls from outside the bedroom. _**Please, come in, Steve...I want you to see me,**_ you silently plead.

Your wish is granted, when you hear the door being opened. Steve still thinks you're in the bathroom, **with the door closed**.

You continue your charade of tidying your hair, even going so far as to pretend you've not heard the blond calling your name. 

"I was wondering if you wanted-" He ceases to speak, stopping stock still when he sees you, nude and preening in front of the mirror, with door _**wide open**_. "-wanted.....wanted...." He repeats, like a stuck record. Finally, you turn around with deliberate slowness, and lean back against the sink basin. You tilt your head to one side, and look at him through half-lidded eyes. Try as he might, the skinny blond can't peel his eyes from your chest and the small mound of hair between your legs.

"Would you like to know what I _**really**_ want, Steve?" You ask him seductively.

 


	2. Explore Me, Explore You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah! Chapter two, the finale!
> 
> I really hope it isn't lousy or disappointing :3 
> 
> Enjoy, folks (fingers firmly crossed for that) ^.^

Steve's eyes explore the alluring terrain of your body, etching every pore of bare flesh into his mind. He's staring at you like you're Aphrodite incarnate, come to cast your spell of unyielding ardour over him.

"[Your Name]?" He whispers furtively, those beautiful eyes daring to meet your lust-filled gaze.

"I want you _**so**_ badly, Steve." You tell him, in a tone that sounds near imploring.

"You...you do?" How he could possibly be taken aback, when you're nonchalantly stood naked in front of him, is a mystery to you.

"Was the making out earlier on not sufficient evidence of that, Stevie?" You tease. The oh-so-familiar tint of dusty rose stains his slightly hollow cheeks, and wreaks havoc on your hormones.

"Oh, well, I suppose...I just...I'm just...kinda surprised. But not in a bad way!" He assures you, clearly fighting the urge to let his eyes venture across the tantalising territory below your neck. You walk towards him, making sure your hips sway with a sexy confidence, and then lean against the doorframe. You never break eye contact for a second.

"I'm very flattered. Does that mean you want me, too?" You ask, coquettishly. Steve's moral integrity is defeated by his desperate lust in the momentary internal conflict, when his eyes resume their hungry exploration of your body. You consider that this may be the first battle he's ever willingly lost.

"Yes. A lot. For so long." He confesses. His pupils are blown, making him look almost predatory. Your imagination runs amok, speculation of the thoughts possessing Steve's mind heating your loins. You wonder if he's thinking about finally being able to fulfill his most intimate desires, perhaps of touching you in places he's dreamt about or of gently easing himself inside of you, consumating your mutual infatuation? You dare to wonder if this is how is his sexual fantasies start, with him eventually pressing his frail yet perfect, slender body against yours, rolling those bony hips to culminate in fervent, driving thrusts that strike delectable spots in your passage. Maybe with every imagined thrust, he jerks his pelvis forward into his slick hand? Maybe he only lets himself tumble into blissful, sticky release when he pictures you throwing your head back and letting a throaty moan burst forth to signal your climax?

 

You suddenly feel the chill of your wetness on your inner thighs.

"I'm glad. C'mon-" You hold out your hand to him. Without a second's hesitation, he clasps his fingers around yours. With the blond in tow, you walk towards his bed, then proceed to carefully manoeuvre him so he can settle himself comfortably on the edge.

"Gimme both your hands, Stevie." You command softly, and he obeys with an unwavering loyalty. He's got that wonderful adoring expression on his face again. "You've never touched a woman before, have you, Stevie?" You inquire. You glimpse shame pass over his face.

"No...I haven't." He admits dolefully.

"Good. Then this'll be an experience you'll **_never_**   forget." You rest his hands on your waist, those warm, slightly coarse palms now on your bare skin. You move his hands up, at a torturously slow pace-drawing out your own anticipation as well as his. You look at him with come-hither eyes, and his own widen in awe.

You allow his artist's fingers to coast over the softness of your breasts, his palms to brush over your hardening nipples. Steve lets out a shuddering gasp.

"Do you like the way they feel?" You ask. Rendered speechless, all he can do is nod keenly.

"They're...beautiful. You're beautiful. You're perfect, [Your Name]." He then says. You notice the familiar sight of his pants tightening around his bulge.

"You're perfect, too, Stevie." You tell him sincerely, now encouraging his hands to travel downwards. His breath hitches when he has hold of your hips, and then his body practically quivers when you place his hands on your backside.

"You can squeeze it a little, if you like." You permit, with a coy smile. Steve gently, timidly presses his fingers into the flesh of your buttocks. You swear you can see his stomach tightening through his shirt as he thrusts his hips up in an involuntary response.

"Oh...oh, [Your Name]..." He sighs.

 

"Would you like to find out just how much I want you?" You taunt.

"[Your Name]..." He whines by way of giving the affirmative answer. You slide onto the bed, into his lap, facing towards him, with your knees resting either side of him. You graze his hand back over your hip and make it quest down between your legs.

"Put your finger between the lips..." You urge him, releasing his hands altogether. Steve watches your expression closely as he slides his index finger between the delicate, soft folds of skin, slick with your burning desire. You relish the resonating groan that contact elicits. The blond delves further between your legs, tracing a steady, erotic path around your soaking entrance.

"Steve..." You whimper, suddenly as malleable as wet clay in his deft fingers. _**Oh yeah, he's dreamt about doing this for a while**_ , you realise. Carefully he glides back up between your folds, and skims over your engorged clitoris-which to send a jolting shock of pleasure through your core. You seize hold of his bony shoulders, fingernails dragging at the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. "Steve!" You yelp. Steadily, determinedly, he runs his fingertip back and forth over your clit.

"Am I-am I doing this right?" He seeks your assurance, those azure irises focusing on the slackening of your jaw, the way your mouth has fallen open and, you suspect, your heavily dilated pupils.

"Uh huh." You reply breathlessly. When you recall how you wanted to watch Steve go to work on himself, you clutch his wrist-lightly-and plead- "Stop. Stop. Please. Lemme...lemme watch you...touch yourself. Please. I so wanna watch you." Your voice slurs, as though inebriated from carnality. The gorgeous, slender blond is apprehensive all of a sudden.

"I...I'm not sure. Are you sure? What if I...what if I look stupid? Or don't...?" He's reluctant to say the word 'come' so instead drops his voice to a whisper- "... _ **orgasm**_ ? I'll be nervous, worried about looking like an idiot in front of you..." Steve deflates himself.

"You wouldn't look stupid. You'd look _**incredible**_." You pepper kisses over his cheek, his skin warm agains your mouth.

"I-I don't know..." He wavers.

"If you're worried about looking like an idiot...maybe there's something that'll alleviate that feeling? " You pull your head back, pinning him with a ravenous stare.

"Yeah?"

"You can watch me too." You say resolutely.

 

"W-what?" Steve sputters.

"You heard. You can watch me touch myself while I watch _**you**_ touch _**yourself**_. How's that sound?"

"Um...I....it....it sounds good. Real good." He nods eagerly.

"Good." You suddenly crawl on all fours towards the headboard, flip over nimbly and wriggle around, so you're leaning back against the board comfortably. At this point, the blond is agaze at you. "You look startled." You remark elfishly.

"Kinda gotta good reason for it." He retorts affectionately. "I just....never thought you'd ever-I never even imagined this would ever _**happen**_. I'm waiting to wake up, and feel disappointed that this was all an amazing dream. I didn't think a beautiful gal like you would even _**like me**_."

"Never mind be lying butt naked on your bed, desperate to watch you do the five-knuckle shuffle, huh?"

"Exactly." Steve chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearingly bashful way he does.

"This is all reality, Steve. And trust me, I _**like you**_  . A _**lot**_." You tell him. "So much, baby..." You add, your desire overwhelming you, seperating your knees and opening out your legs to offer the most generous of generous views. A smirk tugs at your lips when Steve goes bug-eyed at the sight before him, as though a prized gallery masterpiece is perched between your legs.

"I'm hoping that expression is a good sign?" You inquire. There's a flicker of guilt in his eyes when he returns his attention to your face.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't...I shouldn't gawk like that. It's disrespectful..."

"S'okay, Stevie. You've never seen one before. It's gonna be strange to start with." You console him. "Would you be willing to let me see all of you?" You ask in a velvety purr.

 

"Um...sure thing. Okay." He agrees hesitantly, unbuttoning his work shirt and shrugging out of it. He hunches his angular shoulders up, blatantly self-conscious of his slight build, and that papery skin seems to grow taut over his jutting ribs. When he turns, to remove his work uniform pants, his back faces you at an angle. You just about can see the knobbly discs of his spine.

He's perfect. Delicate. Fragile. Like an enchanting glass figurine.

His thumbs settle beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, but he turns his head to look at you for confirmation.

"Them too." You tell him huskily. Steve gradually eases them down, and steps out of the undergarment, picking his dainty feet up gracefully-one at a time. When he sits back on the bed, he covers himself with his hands, which proves a difficult task for the blushing blond-as his member is raised, hard and proud.

"Don't hide it, Stevie. I wanna see _**all of you**_." You croon, stretching your leg out and nudging his back gently with your toe. Steve offers a wan smile before uncovering his crotch. Though he isn't 'huge' by any stretch of the imagination, he's certainly impressive for a little guy. Not that you're particularly bothered either way. Your mind is far more focused on how his hand would look wrapped around it, stroking himself into orgasmic splendour. However, judging by the way his member looks so painfully stiff, the head swollen and glistening with a light sheen of pre-come...you strongly suspect it won't take long for him to reach an orgasm.

Then again, with your clit aching for contact, and your passage drenched, the nerve-endings practically squalling for some attention...you're quite confident you'll need very little time also.

 

"Please sit closer to me." You request, softly.

"You sure you want me to be that close when I'll be...well...y'know...?"

"Oh definitely." You wink salaciously at the blond, who now look the visisble personification of diffidence as he shuffles closer to you. You're pleasantly surprised when he hoists his legs up, so they no longer dangle over the edge of the bed, and kneels, _**facing you**_. The view is utterly enthralling. You can see the extent to how aroused he is, with his tumescent member and his balls looking uncomfortably strained, the flush staining his concave chest, his scrawny neck and his angelic face with their aquiline features. You realise he's biting his lower lip nervously, an adorable action that makes him appear even more innocent.

"Stevie..." You sigh wistfully. "Do you wanna start?"

"I can but...I'm not sure if...I don't really know how to-well, I've never done it front of anyone, so I'm not sure how to...start..."

"Just think about the stuff you usually think about, Stevie."

"I think about _**you**_." He admits, making your heart soar.

"There you go. And I'm right here, which should help. I know, how about if I do this?" You begin trailing your hands across your chest and stomach, sweeping over your spread thighs, to inspire Steve. Promptly, the blond's hand goes to his member, and he pumps his fist up and down his length.

 

Your eyes fix on the glorious sight of Steve taking care of himself in front of you, who in turn is watching you now toying with your breasts. His thumb swipes over his head, to spread his wetness. Each time his hand travels the length of his shaft, pulling his foreskin back and forth to create the much needed friction, you hear an exiquisite wet clicking from his pre-come now being slathered over the taut skin of his erection.

You squirm and moan at the bombardment of erotic stimulus. Your passage, previously squalling for attention, was damn-near _**caterwauling**_ for it. Unable to bear the throbbing of your clitoris, you slide your (right/left) hand down and provide it with the necessary ministrations, whilst the pointer finger of your free hand slips into your entrance. You synchronise with Steve's rythmn, so everytime his hand reaches the root of his shaft, signalled by a wonderfully obsence sound of flesh quietly slapping flesh, you thrust your finger inside of you.

Steve is careful to pace himself, not solely for his asthma, you suspect, but so he can hold out for longer. The effort from such an exertion is obvious in his appearance, the sweat gluing strands of his golden hair together, trickling down his flushed face and the way his chest is expanding with every deep breath, trying to compensate for the loss of oxygen.

"Is this...this what you...thought about me doing?" You ask, with barely enough breath to string the words together.

"Yeah...and...and other things." Steve replies between gulps of air.

"Tell me...please."

"Thought about...making love...to you. How it...how it would feel...inside of you. Whether you'd...enjoy it, whether you'd-um...moan. How warm and soft...you'd feel-ahh..." Steve's breaths become shaky, as though he's getting dangerously close.

 

"Shh, s'okay, baby...you don't have to say anymore...c'mere, gimme your hand-" You slide your finger from your passage, with a whispering squelch, and guide his free hand to your entrance. "Feel...feel all of me..." You say. Steve fixes you with an amorous gaze as he pushes his finger into you. You revel in the sight of his hips starting to undulate, thrusting into his fist. His finger grazes over your walls magnificently, and combined with the friction between your clit and your fingertip, it's shoving you toward a climax. Your strengthening orgasm is turning into a knot of frustratingly sumptuous tension, that can only be unravelled by the frenzied pounding of your walls as you submit to the pinnacle of pleasurable sensations.

Steve begins groaning, and they're unbearably sexy, drawn-out noises of euphoric delectation. You're hardly surprised when you see his pre-come pooling around the head of his member, and dripping onto his quilt cover. You reach forward with your free hand, and brush your drenched finger over the leaking slit of his penis.

"Are you gonna come for me soon, baby?" You ask him in a voice that's drizzled in honey. Steve's groans become more resounding, shorter and considerably more desperate.

You roll your hips, forcing his penetrating finger to plunge further into you.

"Oh G-oh my-oh God! Oh God oh God oh God oh God! [Your Name]!" He babbles almost incoherently, wheezing. He drives his shaft aggressively into his slippery fist, staring at you in an expression that somehow teams dismay and ecstatic delight.

"Stevie..." You moan, lulled by the siren call of your climax.

"[Your Name]! [Your Name], 'm...'m gonna...'m gonna come..." He tells you. You position your hand in front of his member, forming a crude cup. Enough to stop the quilt cover being stained any further, but not enough to block your view of the magical moment.

"Go on, Stevie...come for me." You order, and he immediately obeys.

 

You can vaguely feel the throbbing of his member, as Steve spills his seed into the palm of your hand, in several hot, thick, white spurts. As this happens, his body seizes up and he rests his forehead on your raised knee, releasing the softest, throatiest whimpers.

You're quickly sent tumbling over the edge into an abyss of ecstacy, your walls fluttering and clamping down around Steve's finger.

"Oh God..." He moans at the rewarding sensation of your passage tightening wildly.

"As good as you imagined?" You inquire, sleepily.

"Better. So, so, so much better." Steve looks at you ardently, then, after slowly pulling his finger from you, studies his finger with its new shining, wet coating.

"Awesome." You respond simply, with a satisfied smile.

"You're so beautiful, [Your Name]." He re-focuses his eyes on your own.

"Thank you, Stevie. You're my handsome guy, right?" You query him. Steve crawls forward so he's able to lay down beside you, and curls up at your side. He wraps his arms around you, and rests his head against your chest.

"I'm all yours, [Your Name]." He says. You wind your arms around his bony shoulders, as if to hold him closer, and rest your cheek against the crown of his head. The sweet scent of his peppermint shampoo wades into your nostrils.

"Would I be a total meatball for saying 'I love you', right now?" He asks, as if seeking approval. Those words catapult your heart into the stratosphere, joy flooding your body from head to toe.

"No, Stevie. You wouldn't."

"Swell. Then...I love you, [Your Name]." The blond declares in that smooth, calm timbre of his.

"I love you too, Steve." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! I confess, I found myself blushing a tad when writing it :')
> 
> And I know it's a bit odd at the end, but I wanted to throw in some sweetness :)
> 
> I really hope you liked it! Thank you very, very much for reading this, you groovy beans! ^.^


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